


i'm a fool (in love)

by aw marvel no (getoffmysheets)



Series: Lovers and Fools [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additonal Tags in Chapter, Don't Judge Me, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Filthy, Just Sex, Literally Filth All The Time, Multi, Ridiculous, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/aw%20marvel%20no
Summary: The smut-only cut for the Lovers and Fools series. Each chapter is dedicated to a specific pairing, with its own tags listed inside.





	1. Ready for Love (i want you to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Every chapter of this story is named after the song that the two of them creates. Feel free to read one, a few, or all of them. Unless otherwise indicated, this takes place before the start of part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first story will contain:
> 
> Pet Play, Low-Key Praise Kink, Teasing, Sex Toys, Anal Play, Soft Doms, Subspace, and Aftercare.

Without looking, Steve knows that it’s Natasha whose settled in beside him. He continues to chew his wrap and after finally swallowing his mouthful, asks “If you had a secret that you were…I don’t know, embarrassed or ashamed to tell one of us, who would you tell first?”

 

Natasha does a slow blink before taking a bite of her pear, it’s flavor sweet and clean in her mouth. “Something you’d like to tell me, Steve?”

 

He hesitates, finally sighing. “No, not me. It’s Tony. I keep getting the feeling that there’s something…”

 

She makes a little sound, a soft ‘hm’, but Steve knows immediately that she’s caught on, too. “Something he can’t quite bring himself to ask for, yes,” Natasha concludes, “Gets all twitchy when Clint’s done being Daddy, and even after you’ve taken care of me.”

 

“Like he’s a bit jealous,” Steve agrees. “But I don’t understand, Nat. What could possibly be stranger than me calling Clint…calling him Daddy, or pretending to hurt you because we like it? What does he want that’s so taboo even he won’t ask?”

 

“It might not be _what_ he wants,” Natasha says slowly, thinking of the way she was raised. “It may be that he wants something at all.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Hm…well, how would Steve at…let’s say _twenty_ , feel about having anal sex with a man? Or even with a woman? You probably wouldn’t have given it a lot of thought – unless my assessment of you is _really_ off – but the society you were raised in would’ve said that was repulsive, and that probably would’ve been your first instinctual response, even if now you feel comfortable with it.”

 

“I think I get it. It’s not us, it’s not even him – someone, somewhere, told him it wasn’t acceptable, and it stuck with him.” Finishing his lunch, he continues “So, which one of us do you think Tony is the most likely to open up to?”

 

“Bruce,” Natasha says after a moment of silence. “I can’t see him being phased by anything we ask for short of pedophilia or cannibalism.”

 

Grimacing, Steve wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks for that, Natasha. That’s the very last thing I wanted to picture.”

 

"I'm a generous person, Cap." 

 

Tony starts out the conversation looking all too like a fox on opening day of the hunt’s bugle call, which is not at all the way Steve intended this to go. He lets Natasha do the talking because she’s the least likely to say it without sounding like an ass. “It’s not that I think you’re hiding something from us,” she says, her voice the soothing purr of a satisfied feline. “It’s just that some of us have the persistent feeling that perhaps…we could be doing… _more_ for you.”

 

He blinks at the five of them, genuinely startled for a moment as he’s caught off guard, but then Tony laughs, light and merry, and says, “What else could I possibly want, Natasha? I have unlimited sex whenever I like, in five different flavors. Going to bed is already like walking into the milk aisle at the grocery story.”

 

Bruce, having agreed to this discussion after being forewarned, quietly says “You could just tell me, Tony. Privately. And I’ll be the one to tell them.”

 

Tony stares at them, glancing into each one of their faces and sees that they will never stop asking – they’ll do it softly, with all the patience of love, but the question will still be there. “Yeah, okay,” he says, barely audible. “Just you.”

 

They only move to the bedroom, and Bucky and Steve could hear the conversation if they really desired to, but that wouldn’t be respectful when it’s clearly difficult for Tony to talk about at all.

 

When Bruce returns to the rest of them in the living room, he comes back alone. With a gentle, apologetic smile, he says, “He’s having a little trouble with…well, he didn’t want to see me explaining.”

 

“It can’t be that bad,” Bucky says fairly, scooting forward on the sofa. “Give it to us straight, Bruce, we can take it.”

 

Bruce explains, slowly and deliberately, Steve and Bucky’s eyes growing wider and wider by the moment. They weren’t even aware that people did that – that they could _enjoy_ that.

 

Tony, listening from a spot just beside the bedroom doorway and resisting the urge to chew his fingernails, hears Steve says “I’m not sure I really…understand this.”

 

Bucky says “I’m…I’m out of this one,” and his heart sinks. “It just feels like a lot of…not good head space involved. For me.”

 

“Oh my god,” Clint breathes, and Tony feels sick. “TONY! _Please let me go first_!”

 

“W-what?” He leans out into the doorway. “Go first? What d’you mean 'go first'?”

 

Clint springs off the couch to stand, arms spread wide in greeting, and gives a roguish wink. “I’m your Dom, baby. First dibs.”

 

Tony feels a smile tugging at his lips, an urge to run right into his arms suddenly stealing over him. “I’m all yours, Barton.”

 

Confident and crooked, Clint grins “Yeah, you are. We’re gonna need some supplies.”

 

Clint says nothing else about it, and Tony becomes nervous that maybe he’s changed his mind when on an unusually quiet Thursday after Steve and Natasha left to take the kids to school, and Bruce had gone to the lab, Clint down on the couch beside him, and pulled out a case from underneath the coffee table.

 

Bucky, glancing first at the case and then Clint, says, “Do you need me to leave for a bit?”

 

“Maybe just this first time,” Clint says gently.

 

“Wha-” The question dies in his throat as Clint, quick-fingered and sure as ever, pops the latches open and lifts the lid. Tony stares, totally blind-sided at the contents within.

 

Bucky quietly leaves the room and Tony doesn’t stop him, despite feeling a bit bad for kicking his other mate out of the room. Clint says “Nat and Steve will be out to lunch for the next few hours and Bucky and Bruce won’t be back until it’s time to fix dinner. I wanted you to decide for yourself how much you actually enjoyed this without feeling like you need to make it a performance. It’s just you and me, Tony.”

 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, staring down at Clint’s gifts.

 

The fluffy ears are soft and pointed and the same dark color as his hair, with a matching tail, a long black brush of fur attached to a modestly-sized butt plug. The really surprising piece though is the collar, a beautiful circle of heavy burgundy velvet and black lace, dusted with gold flecks, a tiny golden bell affixed to the center of the band.

 

It’s not a slave collar – far from it. This is the accessory of a spoiled and well-loved pet, not an indication of human property, and it’s clear to him at a glance that Clint had this custom made.

 

“Do you like it?” he asks Tony, a bit sheepishly. “I almost added a little heart-shaped name tag, but…well, you know how the press are.”

 

“I love it!” Tony blurts out, stunned into graceless honestly. “It’s-it’s beautiful, Clint.”

 

“Great!” Clint breaks out into a pleased smile, reaching into the case to lift the collar. Tony is frozen with nervous anticipation. Gently, reverently, the velvet is placed around his neck with a merry chime of the little bell. Resting a hand on the top of Tony’s head, he says “Ready to get started, kitty?”

 

A shudder runs down Tony’s spine and a soft chirrup of agreement comes from his mouth. Clint looks at him closely – Tony’s eyes are already dilated, his face flushed. Jesus, he’s already approaching subspace just from Clint putting his collar on. This was easier than he expected. Just as carefully, he puts the headband with it’s pair of ears on him. He helps Tony take off his clothes, because of course cats don’t wear jeans or t-shirts.

 

If he had enough brain power left, he probably would’ve been surprised that Clint really just spends the better part of nearly an hour…petting him. Not even in a dirty way! He casually sprawls on the couch, watching Dog Cops, and pets Tony’s hair, strokes his back, even rubs lightly between his shoulder blades. Scratches at his scalp and uses those skillful fingers to massage at the tension in his skull.

 

Tony is boneless and filled with hazy bliss, head on his lap. From a distant place, he can here Clint speak to him in a low murmur, but the words barely hold any meaning for him. “Such a good boy, what a sweetheart you are!”

 

The absolute trust he seems to have in him is thrilling, more than just sexually. Purring, Tony rubs his face against Clint’s thigh. Delighted, Clint scratches below his ears and whispers, “Yes, you are, my good little kitty. All relaxed for me now. Shall I put your tail in?”

 

Purring some more, he butts his head against Clint’s side, whose chuckle turns into a full-throated laugh. Clint pets him some more, lazy strokes down his back, gradually working his way between the cleft of his buttocks, so slow and measured that if Tony weren’t in subspace, he’s certain he would be offended by such a careful approach.

 

But this is the way Clint wants it.

 

Tony, to his credit, doesn’t break character even when Clint begins to gently open him up with just two fingers and plenty of lubricant, a sound somewhere between a yowl and a moan coming from his mouth. His fingers kneed into Clint’s thighs like a pair of claws, clinging to him as he’s stretched open with the caution and tenderness suitable for a nervous virgin. “That’s it, precious, just stay nice and relaxed.”

 

The tail goes in smooth as butter, announced with a sudden brief ring of the little bell, but Tony still shudders as though he’s been electrocuted – his muscles might be relaxed but his nerves are fizzling, and Clint’s aim is as good in the bedroom as it is on the battlefield.

 

He didn’t leave it at that, either. There was a particular reason he’d purchased this specific set of toys.

 

After draping Tony’s upper body over his lap, he petted his back and that magnificent ass and with a gentle and calculated motion, began rhythmically tugging at his ‘tail’.

 

Tony mewls pathetically, ass lifted in the air, his face rubbing desperately into Clint’s stomach. “My good boy,” he murmurs indulgently, giving the fluffy black plume several more firm tugs. “My boy just loves to be petted, doesn’t he? You’ve been so good, my sweet Tony.”

 

He was sort of impressed that Tony hadn’t tried to jerk himself off yet, simply kneads against Clint’s thigh and meows. It was one of the hardest impulses for a new pet sub to resist, but it wasn’t usually allowed by most Doms because most animals couldn’t masturbate with their hands. Clint was no exception to this rule – he wouldn’t actively punish Tony for trying, because he suspected that this mindset wasn’t about discipline, but he wouldn’t have allowed him to continue doing it, either.

 

“You’ve been just lovely, my pretty kitty,” he coos, with a slightly rougher tug that makes Tony press his open mouth to Clint’s jeans, his teeth pressing against the fabric and his knees spreading wider apart on the sofa cushions. Lower, he whispers, “Do you need my hand to help you finish, baby?”

 

Desperately trying to catch his words despite the haze in his head, Tony lifts his head briefly to nod before sinking back down to continue letting his teeth prick into Clint’s leg. The fall is as beautiful as the rise, Tony’s mewls and moans smothered into his thigh, the sweet sound of the bell chiming softly with the same rhythm as his strokes and pulls. To Clint, it’s beautiful in a strangely primal way – music is important in all cultures, and the song of the golden bell is almost a proto-Echo, a music that he and Tony create themselves.

 

Tony falls upwards, into a fizzing galaxy of pleasure that erases all sound, light, and meaning. Within this marvelous, weightless infinity, Tony floats for…hours? Days? Minutes? He doesn’t know.

 

All he does know is that Clint is there and will take care of him.

 

He returns to himself slowly, and several things become apparent in his foggy state. Clint seems to have already cleaned off both him and the couch, and while his ears and tail are now gone, Tony is still wearing the collar and draped over his lap as he lounges over the leather sofa, one arm slung over the back and the other absently carding through Tony’s hair, spiked slightly with sweat.

 

“I didn’t get you off,” he says faintly, curling into Clint’s stomach. He can’t bring himself to be concerned about that, not the way he would normally be. In fact, he can’t really bring himself to be concerned by much of anything right now. Clint is a very real and solid weight below and around him, an anchor to earth that simply allows him to drift…

 

 _Tony_ , Clint thinks, _fucks like he’s taking the SAT’s to get into MIT all over again, grades for performance, stamina, number of orgasms achieved._

 

It’s a bit tragic, to Clint’s mind, and he kind of wants to punch the person or persons who trained him into this attitude. There’s no fun or romance to that way of thinking, which is shit because he _knows_ those are two things Tony needs like air.

 

“Can’t say that I feel comfortable with that just yet,” the archer says amiably. “Not until you’ve had some time to get used to it. We’ll work up to it.”

 

Lightly, he pinches the top of Tony’s ear, rubbing him like he would a cat, a sensual and oddly hypnotizing feeling. “We’ve got time.”

  
_Yes_ , Tony thinks, dazed as the reality of it hits him all over again.

 

Yes, they did, didn’t they? The rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony are "Ready for Love" by Bad Company. My adoration for Soft Dom Clint Barton is maybe a tiny bit unhealthy.
> 
> What pairing would you guys most like to see next? (For the most part, I already have ideas for what's going to happen within each pairing, but if you'd like to also add suggestions, my curiosity is aflame!)


	2. You Make Loving Fun (it's time to try)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture this happening immediately after Chapter 14 in the first part of the series. Tags for this chapter are:
> 
> Oral Sex, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, Light and Fluffy Smut

Tony has a beautiful, beautiful secret, one which he has struggled with on a daily basis. On the one hand, he’s like to shout this to the rooftops, plaster it across billboards, have an anchor yelling it on the nightly news. On the other hand, he guards it jealously, the knowledge so spectacular and wonderous that he does not want any other to know what he knows.

 

He knows how to get the Black Widow to say his name.

 

Not scream it, which would be nice but a bit cliché for both of their tastes. Natasha only screams when she’s acting, like the queer brutal roleplay she and Steve perform for each other, or the put-on act of Black Widow in seducer mode.

 

Natasha in her natural environment is more sedate than that.

 

Tony likes it. He doesn’t quite know why – maybe because it’s totally different from the woman he would normally be attracted to. Honestly, that’s strange in and of itself. Bucky is a sucker for redheads, at least in women. Clint and Steve have an unhealthy attachment to women who can break their nuts. Bruce is attracted to her femme fatale vibe.

 

Tony’s always preferred his women to be simplistic – not simple, no, he would never call them stupid. Not even shallow, necessarily. But he liked his women and his relationship with those women to be as uncomplicated as possible.

 

Natasha’s entire life was a ball of knotted complications. From her birth, she’d been stolen from her parents, the couple who produced her told that she was a stillborn. Her first sexual experiences were with one of her soulmates, but it had been under duress on both sides. She’d known one of her other soulmates for about a decade and it had taken most of that decade to for them to so much as kiss.

 

For most of their relationship, Tony had been operating under the assumption she hated his guts and he didn’t know what about her was real, and what was merely a convenient falsehood – half of the time, Tony thought Natasha herself wasn’t entirely sure.

 

“My magnificent Russian murder princess,” he says with a grin, beckoning her toward the bed.

 

She smiles wryly and says, “I believe I was promised a very specific reward.”

 

He can tell already that she expects this experience to be Fine at worst and Good at best. Not amazing, not great, not awful or terribly awkward. Just good.

 

Tony will forgive her, just this once. She doesn’t know yet.

 

He was good at this his very first time, when he had nothing but instinct and enthusiasm, and his initial enjoyment led to lots and lots _and lots_ of practice. Back then he was Good. Now, Tony was on another planet.

 

Natasha twitches slightly – is she impatient or surprised? – when Tony begins lazily kissing around his intended target, sucking lightly on her thighs and lower belly, taking gentle tastes of the thin soft skin in these vulnerable places.

 

A low sigh escapes her lips.

 

No, not impatient at all.

 

Tony wonders if any of her previous partners, mostly related to her position as a Black Widow, had bothered to take any proper time with her.

 

He suspects not.

 

Despite the dubious nature of consent between them, he’s starting to think that Bucky was probably her most considerate lover, and _he’d_ shoved her to the ground and pushed her pants down.

 

Natasha finds herself staring at the ceiling and trying to breathe slowly and evenly, despite the simmering heat curling through her limbs. Despite Tony’s casual, almost leisurely pace there is a strange anticipation building that makes her want to squirm. Every brush of his mouth scrapes his beard over the most sensitive places on her body.

 

The warm, work-rough hands wrapping around her thighs and holding them apart makes her lower belly quiver in a way that she doesn’t want to examine too closely. Tony gently pets at her slit with one calloused thumb, breathing in the warm scent of her body, already wet to the touch beneath the dark triangle of red curls. He feels drunk with it already, his mouth dry with the anticipation of a thirst he will soon quench.

 

Quietly, he murmurs “God, please don’t ever shave. I’ll cry.”

 

“What if…mm….” She breaks off with a silent gasp as Tony gives soft kisses all over her sex. With a bemused smirk, she says, “What if I only shave when you do it for me?”

 

He lets himself imagine that that for a hazy moment, settling between her legs for an hour, painstakingly grooming every inch of her, bathing her bare pussy, and then licking all over that exposed skin. “ _Deal_.”

 

A low hum of sound leaves her throat, barely audible, as Tony begins lathing as her with his tongue, long loving licks that make Natasha’s hips twitch. Shifting his hold beneath her thighs, Tony spreads her open with his thumbs and encourages her to move however she likes.

 

She sighs deeply when Tony groans against her, the vibration humming all the way up her spine. Her nipples tighten and a pulling sensation begins building in the deepest part of her. A heavy, pleasurable ache dragging at her insides – like a boat being pulled into harbor, tugged inch by inch through the waves.

 

And it hurts and it feels so good and Natasha doesn’t realize that she’s breathing heavily, half-growling as she rides his mouth. Her voice and sounds are quiet, so quiet that Tony knows this must be the real Natasha.

 

Distantly, they hear Bucky murmuring “That is so goddamn hot.”

 

Her body gushes slick for him, always ready for his thirsty mouth. Natasha’s fingers curl into his hair, and she moans “Tony…Tony…”

 

She says nothing else, just his name, shaking hard as she finally reaches that longed for destination and he drinks her in eagerly, softer and softer as she comes down, until she suddenly starts pulling at Tony by the upper arms.

 

“…inside me…I need…” The pulling sensation is gone, but even now there is a trench of emptiness sitting in her lower belly that she urgently needs filled.

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

No witty banter or innuendos, no comebacks, just Tony settling between her legs and sliding home in one smooth easy motion.

 

Some kind of noise escapes her, still quiet, and Tony cups her face in his hands, his mouth tasting like herself. To her own surprise, she has to break the kiss almost immediately, gasping “Please”, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

 

Tony grunts, barely leaving the warmth her body and grinding his hips in tight circles and wow, that’s…

 

Natasha’s nails draw tiny pinpricks of blood, her neck arching and her eyes falling shut. Tony growls, her pussy clenching down on his cock, but her orgasm just keeps coming. A high note enters her voice. “Tony…Tony…!”

 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers in her ear, reaching down to tease her clit with a light touch.

 

At any other time, that could get him justifiably punched in the throat.

 

Natasha’s falls open on a silent scream.

 

No sound comes out, but Tony recognizes the shape of his own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may remember from part one, Tony and Natasha are "You Make Loving Fun" by Fleetwood Mac.


	3. Trust in Me (cease to resist)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter changed like four times, but here goes nothing!
> 
> Corsets, Teasing, Intercrural, Sofa Sex, Low-Key Femdom, Low-Key Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, and Natasha's sexuality is apparently 'Truth or Dare'.

Once he’s finished with his explanation, “interesting” is the first word that comes out of Natasha’s mouth.

 

Bruce is just thankful the word wasn’t laughed in his face. It just felt so cliché, but she asked what he wanted and that was the only thing that came to mind.

 

“Would that be like ‘interesting, this could be fun’?” Bruce asks wryly. “Or is that more like ‘interesting, now kindly go fuck yourself, Bruce’?”

 

“The first,” she says, amused. “I’ve never meant anything kindly in my life.”

 

“Yes,” he agrees. “I was rather counting on that.”

 

“Is this a fetish thing? Leather? Vinyl? Crotchless and tits out? Or covered to the wrists and ankles?”

 

“Are you laughing at me?” he demands, nearly laughing himself.

 

“No,” she says, leaning back in her chair and going eerily still as she examines the ceiling in what the others call Nat’s Office, a windowless room decorated in dark silk on what used to be her residential floor. “But I’m trying to picture what _you’re_ picturing, Bruce, and that requires more detail if we’re going to end up where you want. So…more of a fetish thing with a dungeon-playroom feel? More hyper-feminine, with bow and fills – maybe with a historical vibe, like a bodice-ripper romance cover? Or are we talking more basic and trashy, like a Halloween costume? Minimal details and something you won’t be bad about ruining?”

 

Looking more than a little overwhelmed, Bruce says, “Um…not really like any of those. _Definitely_ not the last one. If I had to pick, I’d say the second one, I guess. Not necessarily ‘hyper-feminine’, though.” He sighs, scrubbing at the tangled head of curls that exist in perpetual chaos atop his head. “Maybe this was a dumb idea.”

 

“I’m into it,” Natasha says quietly. “But you have to tell me what you want to get out of this, Bruce. Don’t leave me flying blind.”

 

“I want _you_ , okay? I don’t want a fictionalized version of you, I don’t want some kind of roleplay, I want Natasha.”

 

She smiles, in the shockingly sweet way that she only did when she was alone with them. “I think I can manage that.”

\---

It was all Tony’s fault anyway.

 

Bruce will insist this days later when the rest of them return, demanding to know if they understand how hard it is to keep at straight face as tech geeks talk their ears off when they’ve seen what’s happening at home.

 

There was some kind of high-tech expo that Tony and Pepper were both expected to appear at, and Peter was super excited for. The Sinister Six had already agreed that none of them were ever traveling alone ever again unless absolutely necessary and Bucky in particular did not care for the idea of Miss Pepper going by herself to a building with nearly a hundred thousand strangers wandering around for fourteen hours a day.

 

“It’s okay,” Wanda had said, despite the shadow of uncertainty in her face. “You can leave me here, it’s only a week.”

 

And all six of them had flatly answered “ _NO_.”

 

It was good for Clint to get out of the metaphorical house now and then and they all knew that Bucky and Steve would never be able to rest easy when the others among them were across the country. Natasha and Bruce were the only ones who elected to stay behind. Her protests of being an adult who could take care of herself aside, Wanda did look relieved that she wouldn’t be left by herself in the enormous tower rooms for an entire week.

 

Bruce wasn’t _expecting_ anything.

 

He definitely wasn’t expecting to be idly watching a documentary the first night and see Natasha coming from the bedroom in a maroon brocade corset and a silver spiderweb-patterned garter belt that held up a pair of sheer stockings.

 

 _On second thought_ , Bruce thinks, glued to his seat on the sofa as Natasha approached him from the raised platform on the bedroom side of the circular suite. _I really should’ve seen this coming_.

 

He shifts to stand, to meet her halfway, because holy Christ on a cracker, does that deserve some sort of reaction other than him sitting here with his mouth open. But Natasha says, “Stay right there.”

 

He freezes in place, and Natasha smirks at him, stepping down to the white leather sofa. The corset does nothing to cover her breasts, but she wears a sheer black blouse beneath. It does little to conceal her from his eyes – more of a tease than a covering. “Yes,” she says, self-satisfied at the stunned look on his face. “I got it right, didn’t I?”

 

It takes twenty seconds for him to realize that she’s talking to him and then Bruce only manages enough oxygen to say “ _Please_ ”, staring at her the way she imagines men lost in the desert stare at water.

 

His eyes are Amazon green, lush and rich. The Hulk, the five of them have realized, is not a creature of anger. He is a creature of intense emotion, something Bruce has tried his whole life to avoid. But Natasha has always had a way of bringing it out of him anyway.

 

She stalks closer like a jungle cat – Bruce appears to have his hands full with just breathing in and out. When they are close enough for their knees to touch, Natasha purrs “Arms up on the back, darling.” Obediently, Bruce spread his arms over the back of the couch and swallowed heavily as Natasha climbs on his lap. The garter clips, he notices, are a pair of large silver spiders. _I just want Natasha_. Watching the rise and fall of her chest makes his fingers twitch. Amused, she murmurs, “Hands to yourself.”

 

Her hands, small and clever and deceptively soft, cup his erection over his slacks and Bruce’s mouth opens on a helpless gasp. “Mm, good. I was worried you were just surprised. Feel free to make as much noise as you like,” she whispers in his ear. “We’re in close-frame right now and I’m having every second of this sent to Denver.”

 

He’s not into pain, but there’s something to be said for the sharp prick of her fingernails as she squeezes his cock through the layers of his clothes, deliberately pressing in with her red lacquered nails just enough make it hurt but not enough to make it too intense. Her mouth is a brand of fire as she kisses him, his nerves becoming ashes beneath her touch. He moans “Natasha…” as she pulls his dick out and strokes him in her little fist, letting his head fall back.

 

“I’m listening,” she coos, reaching between her own thighs. “ _No_ – keep your eyes open.”

 

He licks his lips. “Can I touch you?”

 

They both know that any control Natasha has over him is laughable at best – the Hulk remains the only one on their team that she does not truly know how to disable. But he wants her to have at least a temporary feeling of mastery.

 

“Yes.” His only warning is the gleam in her eye before she scoots farther up his lap and rub his cock over her bare sex. He chokes on his next breath, chokes at the velvet glide of his glans kissing her clit, the shaft sliding between her labia. She sighs, low and sweet, and the sound jumpstarts his brain again.

 

His hands slide delicately over the rich brocade and stiff boning of the corset, playing over the texture of the fabric as Natasha leaned in to kiss him again. He would not be rushed and she was content to let him have his time. They both moan as his hands cups her breasts, grinning foolishly against each other’s lips at their own synchronicity.

 

His mouth opens, wet and hot, over the sheer material of her blouse, tongue a warm lightning whip at her nipples. Her fingers digs through the thick mat of curly hair and scrape her nails over his scalp, her hips moving just that little bit faster.

 

Bruce huffs and groans, slick flowing down his cock and staining his pants as Natasha rides him, slow and eager. His eyes are a mesmerizing sight, flashing from vibrant emerald to the dark brown of his natural color and every shade between. “Keep them open,” she repeats, hands flexing on his shoulders, throwing more force into her movements. She teases him, lets him feel the opening of her body, eagerly catching the head of his cock. “Keep your eyes here.”

 

“I’m-Natasha-” he gasps.

 

“A little more,” she moans, hands covering his own, encouraging him to touch and grope her. His teeth scrape her nipples, catch and tear at the fabric covering her. Her breath catches and releases in one long sound. She keeps her eyes open, too, holding the intensity of his as she comes. “ _There_ …”

 

The softness of her scarlet hair, the hardness of her green eyes. “ _Here_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Natasha are "Trust in Me" by Scarlett Johansson. 
> 
> My notes say that Bruce and Tony are next and that is gonna be hilarious and kinky :D


End file.
